


Bound and Gagged

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mr. Dixon - Freeform, Rickyl, Sex, Smut, bottom!daryl, darick - Freeform, daryck, daryl dixon - Freeform, darylxrick, grixon, light fluff, rick grimes - Freeform, rickxdaryl - Freeform, some cute shit too, top!rick, unusual lubes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone requested a fic based on the pic of Daryl bound and gagged. Smutty McSmutSmut.</p><p>Written before the beginning of season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound and Gagged

Rick paced the perimeter of the water tower—a lookout point they had chosen when they made a small gated community in Georgia their new temporary home. He was jittery and antsy from head to toe, each muscle tense, eyes squinted into the darkness of a balmy Georgia night.  
  
That was one thing that always amazed him these days... how damn dark it was in this new world. Even way in the country before it all happened, there were security lights and porch lights and the softly glowing windows of people watching late night television. Now there was nothing but starlight and black. A real advantage though if you wanted to know when someone was coming.  
  
He saw the flashlight long before he heard the boots clanging on the metal ladder of the tower.  
  
“No sign of Daryl?” Maggie asked when she finally pulled herself over the edge, rifle on her back. The man had specifically said he would be back before sundown. Simple run to scout some things out and set up some snares along the way. Nothing dangerous. Nothing he hadn't done a thousand times.  
  
“No,” Rick said. And he was going to pay for making them all worry like this. He refused to believe anything had happened to him. He was out there intentionally, had to be. That wasn't okay. Rick's mind jumped quickly from yelling at him for missing his self-imposed curfew to something much more debauched. He shook the thought away.

Why did his mind always do that when he thought about Daryl? No one had had that effect on him in a long time. It had been years since he'd spent every five minutes fantasizing about Lori. No one else in the group really got a rise out of that part of him. Not like Daryl.  
  
_The dead are getting back up and here I'm worried I might be a little gay?_  
  
“What you shaking your head at over there?” Maggie asked, already making herself comfortable for her watch shift.  
  
“Nothin,” Rick said. “It's nothin.” She must have thought it was still something though, something a little different from his most immediate thought.  
  
“It's Daryl, Rick. He'll come back.”  
  
“I know,” Rick said. _He has to._  
  
“Carol made rabbit stew.”  
  
“Thanks. You need anything, just-”  
  
“Glenn'll be up here soon,” she said, smiling. Rick nodded and started making his way down the ladder, worry still twisting at his insides. He snagged his shirt halfway down, swearing at the rip in the “new” tee before continuing on. If Daryl died or went missing... If even he couldn't make it in this world... Rick took a deep breath, eyes closed against those ideas. He'd be back. And he'd be sorry for not doing it sooner.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Daryl did come back around dawn, sneaking into the house they'd all crammed into together. He immediately headed for the mattress he'd dragged in yesterday morning, shoved into the corner, already smeared with a little filth.  
  
“Don't,” Rick whispered, tiptoeing around the other beds. The minute Daryl looked at him, beady eyes burrowing into his, he lost a bit of his nerve.  
  
“Don't what?” Daryl asked, chewing on his bottom lip. Rick swallowed and looked down, afraid that Daryl would see the blush creeping across his cheeks if he kept looking at him. Those ideas were getting worse. More detailed. Simple flashes giving way to vivid images of his hands raking down Daryl's back. Sighs. Moans. Rick swallowed, struggling to get his throat muscles to work just right.  
  
“You and me need to talk is all.”  
  
“M'tired, Rick .” Daryl set his crossbow down at the foot of his makeshift bed.  
  
“Me too,” Rick said, leaving out the bit about not sleeping because he spent all night torn between worried sick and trying not to think about how this conversation might go... with a little passionate fantasizing thrown in.  
  
“Fine,” Daryl huffed. “What is it?”  
  
“Not here,” Rick said, hands shaking, reminding himself that Daryl looked to him as a leader, that he could lead and the other man would (probably) follow. He turned and started through the maze of mattresses, careful not to disturb any of the others while he made his way out the front door, glancing back to make sure that Daryl had, in fact, followed him.  
  
They'd cleared all of the houses on the block the day before in their search for food and supplies. Rick headed toward the nearest one.  
  
“Ain't the yard far enough? Not gonna wake anyone out here.”  
  
Rick couldn't think of an answer. He couldn't think of why the yard wasn't far enough, except he'd had a lot of time to think about this, and even though he knew he'd never do any of the things he'd imagined last night, he couldn't bring himself to let them all go so easily.  
  
“No, someone might overhear.” Like he was really going to say or do anything they couldn't know about.  
  
Daryl huffed again, but followed him into the empty house, plopping down into a dusty arm chair in the corner of the filthy living room, giving Rick that look, that level of hard attentiveness that only Daryl could achieve. Rick faltered for a moment.  
  
“Look,” Rick started, sinking down onto a section of mostly-unstained sofa , rubbing the bridge of his nose, “you can't do that again.”  
  
Daryl sat up a little straighter. Rick knew the look. Defensive mode.  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said.  
  
“I mean it, Daryl. I—We can't worry about you like that, not after everything. You don't know what you mean to this group. If we lost you... ”  
  
“That all you need to say?” Daryl picked at the dirt under his nails.  
  
“Promise me when you say you'll be back, you'll be back.” Rick cocked his head a little, trying to catch Daryl's eyes.  
  
“I said I'd be back. I am back.”  
  
“You said you'd be back last night. I can't spend all night worrying like that.”  
  
“You my wife now?” Daryl had his glare on full blast. Rick had to mentally slap himself for thinking that tired, crankier-than-usual Daryl was a bit endearing.  
  
“I'm allowed to worry about you.”  
  
“Don't need anyone worrying about me,” Daryl said. “Worry about Carl and Little Asskicker.”  
  
“I got enough worry to go around,” Rick said softly. “You're all my family now.”  
  
Daryl narrowed his eyes before standing up, turning to walk out.  
  
“I'll be back when I'm back.”  
  
Rick stood up too. That wasn't good enough. He reached out and grabbed Daryl's wrist. Reflexively, Daryl shook his arm violently. Rick gripped tighter.  
  
“That ain't gonna work, Daryl.”  
  
“Let go,” Daryl said, practically growling. Rick felt the shudder run down his spine, that little tingle he got when he let those thoughts consume him... just like they were right now. No, this was supposed to be about Daryl understanding that he was important to him. Not that.  
  
_Why couldn't it be both?_  
  
Rick narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening.  
  
“No.”  
  
Daryl spun them both, slamming Rick up against the wall, barring his forearm across Rick's chest right under his throat. He leaned in, his breath ghosting across Rick's face. Rick tensed up, head to toe, his mind going into overdrive. He lost conscious control of his eyes and they flicked to Daryl's lips before he could even think about stopping them. He stared at them, thin and just a little chapped, but still something he desperately wanted to experience. He ran his tongue across his own lips in anticipation before he even realized what he was doing.  
  
Shit. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Rick snapped his eyes back to Daryl's, found him squinting at him with something akin to confusion or maybe curiosity. Yeah, Daryl not noticing something. That would be the day.  
  
“Daryl, I'm...” _You're what? Sorry your cock jumped about three feet at being slammed against the wall by Daryl Dixon? Sorry you started this whole conversation to begin with?  
  
_ Daryl kept staring at Rick, quiet and with no indication of what thoughts were going on in his own head. Rick waited. Waited for Daryl to lash out or to let him go and walk away, probably screwing up their friendship for a good while. Or even to punch him right in the jaw. Every muscle in his body felt tight, tense, and a little too heavy.

“Da—” Out of seemingly nowhere, Daryl covered Rick's mouth with his own.  
  
It took Rick a second to process what was happening to him, that Daryl Dixon had shoved his lips against his before he could get another word out. Daryl Dixon was kissing him. It was a little too firm, with that air of uncertainty that you get with your first few kisses as a teenager. But it was also hungry and needy and warm. As soon as the complete mindfuck of it processed through Rick's brain, he started kissing back with fervor.  
  
All the roughness of Daryl seemed to fade quickly into submission. It was easy for Rick to switch their positions, to pin Daryl against the wall by his wrists. Daryl let it happen without a fight, all the while letting Rick guide their kiss from crashing and clashing lips into a harmonious symphony of insatiable want.  
  
Everything about it made Rick wonder if Daryl had thought about this too, and the idea of Daryl fantasizing about _him_ drove him more a little wild. When he could stand it for a moment, he broke their kiss, surprised by the cute little huff of frustration that came from the redneck when he did.  
  
“Whatchoo stop for?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Was just thinking.”  
  
“Well stop,” Daryl said, trying to lean forward and start another round.  
  
Rick dodged him, smirking.  
  
“Rick,” Daryl said, low in his throat.  
  
“I still reckon you shoulda been back when you said you'd be,” Rick said, his eyes already scanning the room for ideas, his heart pounding with both nerves and excitement. Daryl sighed.  
  
“Whatever. Sure. If I say sorry, will you get on with it already?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Don't you think you should be punished? So you don't keep me up all night again?”  
  
Daryl got that same little squinty look of confusion as he did before, but it quickly faded as it dawned on him what Rick might mean. He glanced at one of his wrists, still pinned against the hideous salmon-colored wall of the house.  
  
“Now you're getting it,” Rick said.  
  
“Gonna arrest me, officer?” Daryl asked, forcing one of his arms free and reaching around to Rick's back pocket, drawing out a pair of silver cuffs.  
  
“How'd you?” After some of the things they'd had to go through to get away from Gareth, Rick started keeping a pair on him at all times again. They'd saved his life more than once.  
  
“Don't think you can't see the outline of them things in there?”  
  
_Daryl Dixon has been checking out my ass._  
  
“Go on then,” Daryl said, offering the cuffs to Rick. “Make sure I ain't late again.”  
  
Rick took them and gently tightened one cuff around Daryl's wrist.  
  
“Some punishment this is,” Daryl teased when Rick started to slowly slide his other arm down. Rick responded in kind, flipping Daryl around and cuffing him properly, pressing his weight against him and forcing the second cuff into place.  
  
“Hmm,” he said, turning Daryl back around, looking him over. “Somethin's missin.”  
  
“Yeah, your damn mouth on mine, _Officer Grimes_.”  
  
Rick was more than happy to oblige, pulling Daryl to him by the hair. Daryl rewarded him with a little “mm” deep in his throat. That little noise was like an invisible rope, tugging Rick's body closer. He rolled his hips into Daryl's. Daryl responded in kind, a little awkward at first, but they both found a rhythm quickly, grinding against one another in the abandoned house.  
  
If Rick would have known yesterday that his being late would have resulted in a handcuffed Daryl, pinned between him and the wall, in an all out frenzied dry hump, growling into his mouth, he might have told him to be late on purpose.  
  
Daryl turned his head, breaking the kiss, both of them panting a little.  
  
“Ain't you gonna, I don't know, do something else?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Got anything in mind?” Rick responded. Daryl fidgeted a little, and Rick had to remind himself that if Daryl wasn't a virgin, this was probably still one of the few times he'd ever done this.  
  
“Maybe somethin' with your hands?” Daryl said without making eye contact.  
  
“Daryl,” Rick said, leaning over a little to find his eyes. “You're allowed to ask for stuff. This is a two-way street sort of thing.” Daryl fidgeted again, chewing on his bottom lip.  
  
“Just said what I want.”  
  
Rick wanted to fidget and look away too, but he wanted this, had wanted it for so long, and he knew if he got too nervous, if he wasn't the strong one for Daryl in this thing, the whole moment would crumble and fall apart. He reached for the button on Daryl's jeans, popping it open. As he worked his hand into the hunter's underwear, he could feel Daryl's whole body shaking. Walkers and people much worse than the undead around every corner, and this was the only thing that could make Daryl Dixon tremble.  
  
“You'd stop me if you didn't want this, right?” Rick asked quietly.  
  
“I started it.”  
  
“Doesn't mean you want to finish it.” Rick thumbed the soft, slightly furry skin of Daryl's lower torso. The room was silent for a second, Daryl still shivering.  
  
“Don't stop,” he said, so quiet that Rick almost didn't hear him at all. It was all he needed though. He grabbed Daryl's cock firmly in his hand, shuddering a little at the little gasp it elicited. He knew that Daryl was capable of being vulnerable, but to actually see it, for Daryl to let him see it... Rick gave a little stroke, testing the waters, and Daryl twitched, bucking into his hand. Rick added a little weight, pinning Daryl against the wall a little more firmly before starting to work him over with his hand, base to tip and back again.  
  
“You can...more...do that...more.” Daryl tilted his head back, resting it on the wall, his mouth open slightly. “More.”  
  
Rick laughed quietly, Daryl's semi-incoherent begging only making his own member ache, pressing against the confines of his jeans. He wanted to free it right then, to turn Daryl back around and bury himself inside, to thrust and thrust until there was nothing left but white-hot pleasure. He wanted to tear down Daryl's walls and reduce them to rubble. But he could wait. Just a minute more... he could. He wanted to make this good for both of them just in case in never happened again. Even if they both liked it, there was no guarantee anyone had a tomorrow.  
  
He stroked again, squeezing a little tighter, building the pressure. Daryl groaned, not a growl, not a tiny “mm” sound, but a full on groan. Rick nearly lost it, but managed to stay focused on the way Daryl's face tensed and relaxed, the way his back arched a little to push himself into Rick's hand, how damn sexy his shoulders looked with his hands cuffed behind his back. Rick reached down with his other hand to cup Daryl's balls, rolling them gently between his palm and fingers.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Daryl said, glancing down at the spot where Rick's hands disappeared into his pants before throwing his head back against the wall. Rick gave it a moment more, and then he stopped, moving his hands to Daryl's hips to work his jeans down. Daryl's head snapped up. Rick paused, waiting for Daryl to show any indication of not wanting to move forward with this, but the hunter simply watched him, his eyes hooded while he looked down, following Rick's hands moving his jeans down his thighs. Rick was unable to keep himself from cracking a smile at Daryl's underwear.  
  
“What?” Daryl snarled.  
  
“Nothing. They're just so... clean,” Rick said. It was true. Daryl was filthy head to toe. His hair was filthy, his face and hands were filthy, and his clothes were so dirty you couldn't tell what color they were really supposed to be, but his underwear were pristine, a pair of tight gray boxer-briefs hugging against his erection.  
  
“Dead are trying to eat people. Living are trying to eat people. Last thing I want while I'm trying to keep from being somethin's dinner is for my balls to itch all the damn time. Act like it's a damn fifth grade science fair display.”  
  
Rick stared at Daryl for a second, all indignant with his pants around his knees. He couldn't help the laugh that came out.  
  
“Ain't funny,” Daryl said, making that little face Rick knew was really his own way of pouting.  
  
“C'mon. It is a little.”  
  
“You want 'em dirty considering what you're about to do?”  
  
“No, of course I don't. It's just... Wait. What is it you think I'm about to do?” Rick asked, pushing the subject back to where he wanted it—on him and Daryl doing the downstairs tango.  
  
“Figured you were gonna, you know.”  
  
“Well thanks for clearing that up, Mr. Dixon,” Rick said.  
  
“Figured you were gonna, well...”  
  
“Fuck you?” Rick asked.  
  
Daryl swallowed, fidgeting a little before nodding once.  
  
“That what you want?” Rick asked, stepping a little closer again.  
  
“Maybe.” Daryl shrugged. “Ain't doing it on that damn Texas Chainsaw Massacre couch though.”  
  
Rick looked around the room. There was a lot of dried blood smeared around, some from the walkers they'd cleared out the day before, some older. Daryl was right. No way did either one of them want to be naked on the couch or on the floor.  
  
“Give me a second,” Rick said before going up the stairs. He came down a few seconds later with pair of curtains, some monstrous pink and black zebra print things that had probably hung in a teenage girl's room. He laid them down on the cleanest part of the living room floor and helped Daryl stay balanced while he slid down onto his knees.  
  
“Rick,” Daryl said, looking up at him.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You got any idea what the hell you're doing here?” Daryl asked. Rick had a feeling it was a bit of a loaded question, but he went for the simplest answer first.  
  
“Did it with Lori a couple of times. Can't be that much different, can it?” he asked. Daryl grunted in response.  
  
If there was one thing Rick did know, things had to be wet. He tried to gather up a bit of spit in his mouth to get it started, but his mouth was bone dry. They hadn't figured out a good way to get water yet around here, and everyone was rationing what they did have until they found a stream or had a decent rain.  
  
“Where you goin' now?” Daryl asked, sighing a little and glancing down at his own crotch. Rick made a tiny little whimpering noise in the back of his throat at the wet spot near the tip of Daryl's erection. 

“Just trying to do this right, Daryl,” Rick said, disappearing into the bathroom and rifling through the cabinets. There was nothing in there save some muscle rub. No way that was going to work, but maybe he and Daryl could give each other a nice back rub later. Lord knew they both needed one. He tossed it on the table next to the front door.  
  
“Hurry the hell up,” Daryl said. He was still on his knees, squirming a little.  
  
“I need something wet or this ain't gonna be fun for you.”  
  
“Spray some damn Pam on it or something. Just get the hell over here and touch me already.”  
  
Rick immediately headed for the kitchen and started tearing through the cabinets. He found a nearly empty bottle of olive oil shoved near the back of one of them. Good enough. He made his way back to Daryl and slid down onto his own knees, capturing Daryl's mouth with his, tangling his fingers in the hunter's hair. He found Daryl with his hands again, rubbing him through his underwear, eliciting another groan.  
  
“Better?” Rick asked.  
  
“Mhm. Now get the hell on with it 'fore everyone wakes up and wonders where you are.”  
  
Rick worked his thumbs under the waistband of Daryl's underwear before pushing them down his hips and thighs, slowly revealing the hunter's cock. Rick only had locker rooms and adult films to compare it to, but it was nice. It was smooth and soft unlike the rest of Daryl's weathered body, a good deal bigger and thicker than his own. It wasn't quite porn star material, but it was close. No wonder he wore baggy jeans.  
  
A little bit of maneuvering and slipping around on the curtains, and Rick made his way behind Daryl. He unzipped his own jeans and worked them down slightly, succumbing to the need to give himself a couple of relieving strokes before he started working on Daryl. He couldn't believe this was happening. Daryl glanced back, and Rick could see him starting to shake nervously again.  
  
Rick knew Daryl would never ask him not to hurt him, but he also knew the plea was there, quietly hiding in the scars peaking out from the bottom of the man's shirt. If Daryl was going to trust him like this, no matter how filthy he wanted this to be, Rick still had to do things properly.  
  
He dipped his finger into the top of the olive oil bottle, giving it a shake to slick it up.  
  
“Just try to stay relaxed. That'll help.” He tried to remember back to the couple of times he'd done this with his wife, how everything resisted before giving way.  
  
“Just go for it, Rick. I ain't a delicate flower,” he said. “Besides, ain't this a punishment?”  
  
_Like I'd ever hurt you just to prove a point._  
  
Rick ignored the comment and worked a little oil around Daryl's opening, teasing just a bit with his fingertip. He slicked up again and started on the process of slowly working a finger in. Daryl tensed up.  
  
“Told you to relax now,” Rick said, reaching around and stroking Daryl's cock once, twice with his free hand.  
  
“I am relaxed,” Daryl snarled.  
  
_No, you're not._  
  
Rick tried for another finger, but Daryl shifted away.  
  
“Rick, just do it,” he said. “All this slow anticipation shit ain't helping me _relax_ none.”

“You sure?” Rick asked.  
  
“Just said it, didn't I?”  
  
Rick poured a handful of oil and stroked his cock a couple of times. Taking a deep breath, he pressed against Daryl's entrance, gently pushing, trying to glide in with as little force as possible, gripping and tugging slightly on the chain of the handcuffs.  
  
Rick could see Daryl tensing up. He could feel it in the vibrations going through the handcuff chain. He did the only thing he knew to do, reaching around to stroke Daryl's cock again with his slick hand, distracting the man from the discomfort that was Rick entering him for the first time. Daryl moaned quietly. Rick felt the redneck's body give way a little, finally letting him glide inside.  
  
Everything was tight and warm and tight, so damn tight. He remembered now why he'd tried to get Lori to let him do this more after the first two times, the second of which ended in her saying that was it. It didn't do anything for her except make her feel dirty and disgusting, she'd said.  
  
Daryl felt better than she ever had though. He felt a little guilty for thinking it, hoped wherever she was she couldn't hear his thoughts, couldn't see him buried to the hilt in Daryl Dixon.  
  
He reveled in that feeling for a minute, all that heat and pressure surrounding him. But Daryl wouldn't let him revel too long, rocking back against him slightly. It was a tiny movement, not even enough to do much for him physically, but the implication of it made Rick want to fuck him so hard they tore those hideous curtains to ribbons.  
  
Rick withdrew slightly and thrust back in, deep and slow at first. He groaned quietly. Daryl was still, relaxed and no longer shaking other than the little bit of tension that came with trying to balance himself with his arms bound. Rick reached over and grabbed a couch cushion, flipping it to the cleaner side and shoving it under Daryl's chest. He eased himself back in without ceremony, his hands tight on the hunter's hips.  
  
“Fuck,” Rick sighed out as he let Daryl's body envelop him again and again, building up momentum with each push. He fisted a hand into Daryl's hair and tugged his head back forcefully, leaning over to press his mouth roughly against the other man's. There was something different about feeling all of that manly stubble against his lips. Something that made his body tingle a little more than Lori's soft skin ever had.  
  
Somewhere amidst all of it, Daryl started to cry out, releasing strained moans he seemed to be struggling and failing to hold back. Rick reached down and grabbed at the little tear on his shirt, ripping a shred of grey fabric free and forcing it into Daryl's mouth.  
  
Rick could feel the look Daryl gave him then all the way in his toes. Daryl wasn't just tolerating the binding and the gagging to be accommodating. Oh no. He fucking liked it.  
  
He growled something around the fabric that sounded like, “harder.” Rick was more than happy to oblige, pumping in and out of the other man, building a rhythm bordering on semi-frantic.  
  
“Don't you dare let me hurt you,” Rick mumbled.  
  
Daryl responded with a low drawn-out groan of pleasure that made Rick's breath hitch in his chest. The former sheriff grabbed the redneck's hips again, holding them so tight that Daryl's flesh turned white around his fingertips. And then he pounded into the other man, pulling his rugged body back against his own.  
  
Rick threw his head back and closed his eyes, the world becoming nothing but Daryl's heat around him and the sound of panting, groaning, and flesh slapping against flesh. He could hear the string of half-coherent swears coming out of Daryl's mouth even around the cloth shoved in his mouth.  
  
He let himself get lost in all of it until he couldn't take it anymore, and then he opened his eyes again. He found another fistful of Daryl's hair and yanked his head back again, pulling the makeshift gag out and tossing it before covering the hunter's moans with his mouth.  
  
“Rick,” was all Daryl managed to gasp out when they finally broke for air. The hunter's eyelids fluttered violently, his body trembling underneath Rick's. Rick couldn't take it anymore. He pressed his mouth against Daryl's again to muffle the sounds of his own groans as he released into the other man, his cock twitching inside him with each spurt until it was empty.  
  
He recovered quickly, reaching down to grab Daryl's cock with a sweaty hand, tugging on it until Daryl came too, spilling onto the curtains, his moan vibrating against Rick's lips.  
  
The two of them collapsed half-naked, Rick pushing the couch cushion up so they could pillow their heads on it. The former sheriff couldn't resist peppering Daryl in post-coital kisses, his mouth moving up the hunter's neck and jawline. He planted the last one on the sweaty bit of hair right next to the other man's ear before whispering, “thank you.”  
  
“Mhm,” Daryl said, still shaking and catching his breath. Rick dug in his fifth pocket for the handcuff key, reaching around to release Daryl's wrists, letting the handcuffs fall to the floor.  
  
Rick hadn't expected any affection from the other man at all. He seemed to struggle so hard with it, but to his surprise Daryl reached a hand over, pausing with it next to his head, hesitant and awkward. Rick didn't say a word, staring at him and letting him take his time. Finally Daryl swept a bit of Rick's sweat-laden hair back, closing his eyes like the feeling of Rick's hair between his fingers was the greatest feeling in the world. Then he let his hand fall so it rested casually next to Rick's on floor, the sides of their pinkies barely touching, but touching nonetheless.  
  
It was a single moment of tenderness, objectively barely anything at all. But knowing what it took to get that from Daryl made Rick feel like he'd won something very precious. He leaned forward and kissed Daryl's forehead without hesitation.  
  
The two of them stayed that way for a little while, side by side, not saying anything while they cooled off. The clock on the wall had stopped, probably long ago, and time seemed to stand still with it, the quiet broken only by their steady breathing.  
  
Finally, Daryl cleared his throat.  
  
“Best get back 'fore anyone comes lookin,” he said. “I could use some more rest anyway.”  
  
Rick sat up.  
  
“Next time you'll be back when you say?”  
  
Daryl picked up the handcuffs and held them out, letting them dangle from his fingers. He gave Rick a sultry little smirk.  
  
“Maybe.”  



End file.
